


Swimming is Easy (when swimming is all you know)

by whittackers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Combeferre/Courfeyrac, M/M, mostly a splash AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9767975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittackers/pseuds/whittackers
Summary: Twenty years ago Enjolras met a mermaid and had his heart broken. He hasn't been near water since.





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras stuck his head farther out against the wind, feeling it move through his curls and rustle in his ears, deafening out the sounds of conversation and jazz music behind him.

“Jean-Michel Sebastian Enjolras, get down from there at once!” His mother rushed over to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him forcefully down from the second rung of the ship’s rail and back onto the deck.

“Can’t we please spend the last day of our holiday without you getting into any more trouble or trying to scare me to death? Honestly Enjy, you should know better than this.”

Enjolras hung his head contritely and mumbled a “Yes, maman.”

His mother kissed his cheek and dusted off his jacket before sending him towards the children’s area and re-joining her friends.

It wasn’t fair. Enjolras had spent all day on this boat and he was bored. All the other children were either babies or boring and he wasn’t allowed to do anything fun. He wandered towards the back of the boat and sat down against the railing, his legs small enough to fit between the rail posts, and leant his chin in his hands. The sea splashed around him as the cruise boat cut through its waves, promising adventure and excitement in its depths, while Enjolras was stuck up here, alone.

He was staring out at the waves below him when he saw it. Enjolras had never learnt to swim but he didn’t stop to think before climbing over the railing and jumping into the water.

Water rushed over his head and he was blinded by bubbles racing around him towards the surface, but something shiny glinted across from him as he waited for the bubbles to clear.

In the next moment he could see him. The boy, blindingly beautiful, Enjolras recognised him immediately although they were wildly different, almost complete opposites. Enjolras’s blonde hair and dark skin matched the other boy’s dark hair and moonlight paleness, and where the other boy’s legs should have been was a magnificent tail of emerald green scales, gliding through the water and bringing them closer together.

 Enjolras smiled toothily despite the water surrounding him, and he saw it echoed on the other boy’s face. He was close enough to touch now, and Enjolras reached his hand out, mirroring the mer-boy until their hands were joined.

A tug wrenched across Enjolras’s stomach and he was ripped upwards. He registered foreign hands around him as he continued to be pulled away and out of the water. A rope heaved them back onto the deck where they fell with a thud. The crewman stepped back after seeing Enjolras was alive and breathing, as Enjolras’s parents rushed forward to take his place, gathering him into a hug while Enjolras spluttered and started to shake, unable to stop the tears that fell from his eyes, indistinguishable from the water dripping down his cheeks.

He didn’t stop crying until long after the boat had docked and they were driving back to Paris. As his mother stroked his hair from the backseat and his father cast frantic glances back at them from the driver’s seat, Enjolras’s tears finally dried up and he settled into a fitful sleep.

He hadn’t seen the other boy watch as Enjolras was pulled out of the water, hadn’t seen him grasp at empty water, or struggle to keep up as the boat tugged away, his head breaching the surface to watch it disappear from sight. The boy becoming aware of his own tears as they washed away into the sea, before he dived, his tail splashing once above the water, returning to the depths alone.

 

_20 years later_

“-Enjolras. Enjolras!”

Enjolras startles from where he sits at his desk. He doesn’t know how long Eponine’s been speaking to him; his mind still in the meeting they’d held that morning, his brain coming up with ideas, different things he could have said, done, reasoned, that could have turned the outcome.

Roger’s trying voice repeating his words from before in his head, over and over: "It’s done. The contract’s been signed. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Eponine hands him a mug of tea wordlessly.

He feels a pang of thankfulness; this must be even harder for her. He takes a sip, ignoring the scalding heat, and sputters out, “All that work,”

“I know.”

“All the damage this is going to cause. Not to mention the precedent being set for other projects. It's such a huge step back."

“Believe me, I know.”

He lets his head fall into his hands on his desk, and feels Eponine place a tentative hand on his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to make Eponine feel like she needed to comfort him.

“I hate your parents,” he grumbles into his desk.

“They’re the worst,” Eponine agrees, and they share a quiet moment, directing their anger at the Thenardier Corporation.

Enjolras can’t stay silent for long though. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“There will be. We’ll think of something. Organise a lobby, approach from the legislative side. But not now. There’s nothing we can do today and you need to get some rest. How many nights have you spent prepping this case?”

Enjolras looks away guiltily, but most of him can’t stand the thought of letting this go. He doesn’t usually take failed cases this hard, but this one feels different.

“Seriously dude, we’ll worry about it on Monday. You need to go home and not think about work, or CO2 emissions, or bloody Roger Durand, for the whole weekend. Or else.” She tacks on at the end, but Enjolras knows her too well to take the threat seriously, knows she’s just as likely to spend the weekend moping as he is.

Enjolras gives her a hug when he gets up, uncharacteristic for both of them. They walk out of the office together, Eponine leaving to go to Marius and Cosette’s for dinner. He declines her invitation to come along. She warns him again not to keep thinking about work as she waves goodbye.

He calls Combeferre instead, guiltily registering his missed calls, and goes to meet him for drinks. He arrives at their usual place before him and heads to the bar to order.

Enjolras is studying the drinks menu, unfamiliar enough with drinking alcohol to remember what he likes but if ever he needed a drink it was for a day like today, when a familiar sounding voice says his name, the tone of it enough to make Enjolras cringe. He swings around to see a handsome man Enjolras struggles to connect to a name. D-something, he thinks. Darren, David maybe? Thankfully he doesn’t have to make that guess because the man keeps talking, not waiting for Enjolras to address him, “I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again. You never called.”

Enjolras shuffles against the barstool feeling awkward. There’s hurt in the other man’s tone, though hidden behind a layer of joviality and indifference, and Enjolras has nothing to say. He doesn’t know why he’d never called Dave (he's now pretty sure it's Dave) back. He’d liked him, they’d had a good time together, and Enjolras makes a determined effort to drag his gaze back to his eyes and away from the bar floor, figuring he at least owes him that.

“It’s OK. I get it, now.” Dave says rescuing Enjolras from the frankly terrible half-thought out apologies running in his head, a relief he feels for barely a moment as Dave continues, “Some people just aren’t capable of feelings, I think. It was good seeing you, Enjolras, really." and he walks off, leaving Enjolras flabbergasted, unable to recall a conversation where he’d behaved so speechless in his life.

He orders drinks for him and Combeferre, the first things on the menu, and brings them to a booth by the window, trying to shake the haze from his head. Who was Dave anyway, to talk to him like that? It wasn’t like they had ever gotten serious. Or at least Enjolras thinks they never did. He’s got far more important things to be worrying about anyway. At that thought his mood sinks even lower, as his thoughts shift to the day he’s had, and to his phone, feeling suddenly heavier in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry I missed your calls,” Enjolras says as soon as he sees Combeferre walking over to him, “I’ve been meaning to call you back all day, I’ve just been so busy.”

Combeferre swings into the booth across from him and takes his drink, giving him a look as Enjolras finishes his excuses that makes him falter.

“We missed you last night.” Combeferre says, taking a sip of his drink.

Enjolras looks confused for a second before his eyes widen as he realises – “The engagement party. Shit, I’m so sorry. I had an emergency meeting with Durand and I completely forgot.”

Combeferre stares at him. It’s only a second before Enjolras cracks. He starts spluttering out every excuse he can think up, unable to stand Combeferre’s stare.

“I’m sorry, OK. It’s not like I missed the wedding or anything. It’s only an engagement party, does it really matter?”

“I get that you’re not like, interested in, or familiar with romantic love, or whatever, but do you think you could try to understand that this is important to some people? To me. To Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras looks away, buries himself in his drink. Dave’s words from earlier come back to him. It really shouldn’t sting so much, shouldn’t feel so far from the truth. From an outsider’s perspective he can see that’s a reasonable conclusion to draw, but-

“That’s not it.”

“What?”

“It’s- nothing.” Enjolras leans his head against the table. It seems to him he’s done that too much today. He says, as it occurs to him, “Ugh, Courf is never going to forgive me.”

“I’m sure he’ll get there eventually. Although I do see some interesting Best Man outfits in your future. And activities.”

Enjolras groans, but something inside him relaxes. If Combeferre’s willing to joke with him he must be at least a little forgiven. At least he hopes he’s joking.

“So how was the party?”

Combeferre talks as Enjolras orders them more drinks, until he starts to feel normal again.

Well, normal and drunk. It doesn’t take very long for Enjolras, the abstemious lightweight, to fall from tipsy to smashed.

“I really am sorry, you know? You and Courf, you’re so important to me.” Enjolras, migrated to the other side of the booth, tugs on Combeferre’s sleeve and settles his head against his shoulder. “And you’re so in love. It’s beautiful. I’ve never been in love, but-”

Enjolras considers a moment, as Combeferre looks on bewildered.

“Wait, that’s not right.” With a pat against his hand he wrenches himself up out of the booth. “I have to go to Monaco.”

“OK Enjolras, why don’t we discuss that in the morning?” Combeferre suggests, deciding it was probably past time to call it a night.

“Sorry Combeferre, this is important. I’ll be back soon.”

Enjolras strides towards the door as Combeferre hurries after him.

“You can go to Monaco when you’re sober, if you like.” Combeferre tells him, as Enjolras stumbles along the street, before crashing against Combeferre’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stay at mine tonight?”

“I can’t – I have to go-”

“-To Monaco. Yes, you said. Why? Are you missing your parents?”

Enjolras makes a face at that.

“Come home with me, Courf still has to berate you in person.”

Enjolras’ face drains of colour and he lets out a groan.

“OK. Maybe not the best line of reasoning, I can see that now. Fine, I’ll get you a taxi.”

Combeferre puts him in the car with explicit instructions to go home and sleep it off, but as soon as the car pulls away he leans over and orders, “To the airport.”

He’s mostly sober when he finds himself on the beach, the journey a blur.

Enjolras takes off his shoes and rolls up his pants to the knee, and walks out into the water. It’s warmer than he expected. There is barely a sliver of moon left in the sky tonight; he relies mostly on starlight, reflecting off the waves, to look out on the horizon. He doesn’t feel scared or uncomfortable like he expected, doesn’t know why he’s avoided this for so long.

He walks out farther, letting the water wash over his ankles, then his knees, then his waist. A sudden wave crashes into him, and the next moment he’s underwater. He must have been on the edge of a sandbar because his feet can no longer reach the bottom. He's adrift amongst the waves, unable to find the surface. The surf is rougher than he thought; he can’t make sense of it, and he never learned to swim. He feels a thorough fool. He’s going to drown here, ten metres from the shoreline, and it’s going to confound everyone who knows him.

There’s a sudden tug with the next wave and he feels hands around him, and in the next moment Enjolras is back above the surface. He can’t have moved more than a few metres but here the depth is shallow enough to stand, the water reaching only to his hips, and the cool night air sends a shiver down his spine as the water drips from his body and his clothes cling to his skin. He looks around for the hands, but he can see nothing.

He can’t make sense of it, and that terrifies him, but the adrenaline crash and long night are catching up to him, and mostly he just feels tired. Unwilling to hesitate in the shallows he walks back to the shore, treading (with great care and determination) until he is well out of the water, and sinks down onto the sand, exhausted. He makes sure he is far enough from the water that the tide won’t pull him back to sea before he lies down fully, and promptly passes out.

When Enjolras wakes up the sun is already sitting in a corner of the sky and casting its light across the water, and he spends the moment adjusting to consciousness stuck staring out at it, transfixed and wondering how he could have waited so long to see this again, how he had ever left. Eventually though he wakes up enough to feel the hangover pushing its way through his brain and the aches and pains that come from spending a night on the sand. He stands up with a groan and a stretch, trying to ignore the humiliation that threatens to drown him as he remembers last night and where he is.

His arms fall from where they were stretched above his head as he notices the man crouched behind the nearby shrubbery. When their eyes lock he stands up and smiles at him. Enjolras hadn’t known a person could look like that. He feels the expression echo on his own face as they make their way towards each other. The other man is naked, and beautiful, and Enjolras drowns in it, his breath snatched away by the ethereal man.

“Did you save me?” He asks when they’re close enough to touch, and the man makes no reply but reaches out, pulls him in to kiss him.

It lasts a moment. An age. Something new and timeless floods his chest; he’s never felt this way before and yet it’s intimately familiar.

When they break apart the other man smiles at him before unlinking their hands and running out to the ocean. He looks back briefly as he swims out to the depths.

“Wait, come back! I can’t follow, I can’t swim!”

Enjolras watches as the man disappears around the bay, helpless to stop him. There couldn’t be a clearer rejection than that, Enjolras thinks, left alone on the beach, and he tries to reconcile himself to the knowledge that this is all he’ll ever have of the man, of this feeling, with no way to find him again and no sign the other man would even want him to.

Enjolras isn’t sure how long he spends on that beach, but eventually he finds his way back to solid ground, to the discovery that his phone and wallet are missing, and that he’s in a foreign country with no way of getting home.

He can’t remember why he came here; Enjolras hates Monaco. Everything about it feels like a personal slight, and he tries to pretend the heartache seeping into his veins is from this awful place, as his feet take him further away from the beach and into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know very little of French environmentalism or the French coastline, sorry. Really regretting not setting this in Australia.  
> Title is from the Oberhofer song White Horse, Black River  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

The sudden crash of a wave hitting the side of the boat causes Javert to waver on the deck, narrowly missing slipping onto his scuba gear, but not even that graceless manoeuvre can ruin his mood. Even now he can feel the grin sticking to his cheeks, the unfamiliar use of the muscles straining slightly.

He had actually seen it. Had confirmed with his own eyes he wasn’t crazy; that all the mockery, the put-downs, the blows to his reputation, have all been worth it. He had been too slow to reach for his camera, knew the blurry photo he had managed to capture wouldn’t be proof enough for anyone, but he would be ready next time.

He pulls in his anchor and prepares the boat to head back to the dock. He’s secured to his port and is packing up his camera when a little boy runs up to him, from where he has been playing with his sister further down the beach.

“Bonjour Monsieur! Would you like to take my picture?” the boy says sweetly, placing his hands over his stomach in a pose.

Javert’s smile finally falls from his face. “Don’t you know not to talk to strangers, boy?” It comes out gruffer than he intends. He has seen more tragedies than he ever cared to; he wasn’t able to take child safety less than seriously.

“You’re not a stranger. Your picture is on my grandpa’s wall.”

The girl and what he assumes is the children’s grandfather finally catch up to the boy and Javert feels the blood drain from his face like a wave returning to sea.

“George, I’ve told you not to run off like that. Pardon Monsieur- Javert?”

“Valjean, what are you doing here?!”

“I always knew our paths would cross again. Have you been long in Cricqueboeuf?”

“Don’t try to- you’ve followed me here. Once more trying to sabotage my research, admit it!”

The little girl creeps closer to her brother, who is examining the camera. Javert starts, unleashing a tirade, “You think to use these child decoys to distract me! It won’t work, I won’t let you-  not again.” Javert snatches up his camera and makes a shooing motion with his hands.

The little girl mimics it, letting out a giggle, and Valjean scoops her up and settles her on his hip, holding out his other hand for the boy to take. The three of them watch Javert stack up his research and lock up his boat with wide eyes. Javert pauses to take a look at them, before digging out a second padlock to secure the hold.

He wanders off muttering, mostly to himself, “Not this time. You won’t ruin me again,” the crates of his work teetering precariously in his arms as he storms off.

Farther along the beach Monsieur Myriel walks with his sister Baptistine. They have long surpassed the need for conversation between them, instead treading surely together, each lost in silent contemplation of the simple beauty around them, the soft fall of sand with each step, the roaring crash of waves upon the shore, the glint of sun piercing the clouds and shimmering across the water.

Myriel can spend hours walking these shores, but they have barely started out when he is interrupted by his sister’s shriek.

It takes less than a moment to identify the cause of her distress; across the shore is a man, naked as the day God made him, and looking just as wild-eyed, walking towards them.

Myriel’s instinct is to rush over to assist him, but he takes a second to calm his sister first. It takes a moment for her to come back to herself, but soon practicality returns, and she offers up her shawl to the young man.

"How can we help you, my child?"

The man holds out his hand, pointing to the license photo held within.

"Paris? That shouldn't be too difficult, but first let's get you cleaned up."

He directs them to his home, a short walk off the beach, and digs up some old novice robes that are tucked away - the only clothes he has left that will fit the man's impressive physique, unfortunately having just sent off his clothing drive yesterday morning  - and makes them some tea.

The man seems to like it, smiling as he drinks. He clasps Myriel's hand briefly when he is finished and heads for the door. It takes some wrangling to get him to return. He just keeps pointing at the photograph, and Myriel does his best to assure him he will get him to Paris through tone and body language alone, as it's clear the man does not understand any of the languages he tries. When he's seated back on the couch and happily nibbling at the biscuits his sister provides, Myriel takes out his rotary phone and rings Valjean.

"Bonjour Jean. You return the children to Paris tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, back to Paris. The week is out already."

Myriel hardly waits for the answer before continuing, "There is a young man here who needs a lift. You will let him accompany you and see he gets where he needs to be?"

It's hardly a question, but Myriel doesn't notice, and Valjean doesn't call him out on it. He agrees, telling him they leave at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning before hanging up.

The click of the front door causes them all to look up.

"Another stray?" Madame Magloire says as she enters, noticing the man on the couch. Baptistine crosses the room and kisses her cheek.

"This one's really a dear."

It's enough to make her soften a fraction, though her disapproving look never falls, as she puts down groceries on the kitchen counter.

They pass the night quietly; Magloire and Baptistine cook up a meal together and afterwards Magloire lets the man use her small television set. They show him the guest room, but he goes back to the T.V. after they retire, and is still there when they wake up in the morning.

Myriel sends the man off with well wishes and a prayer, and Magloire drives him over to Valjean's. When she cuts off the engine she turns to him before getting out, and glares. "I don't know if you can understand me, but if you do anything to harm the old man or Baptistine, or make them regret their kindness, I will hurt you."

She gets out of the car and the man follows, stricken.

"Good morning, M. Valjean." she says to the man seated on the porch up the drive from where they've parked.

"Good morning, Madame Magloire. Good morning Monsieur."

The man repeats back a greeting, and Magloire gives him a look colder than any glacier.

"Have a safe drive." she says to Valjean, and walks back to her car without looking back.

The two men watch the car drive away, as the children climb out from behind the lawn furniture.

"Is the scary lady gone?" the boy asks his grandfather, who smiles and nods, unable to bring himself to correct the boy's rudeness.

"So, you're bound for Paris?" Valjean asks the man, who points again to the license photo he still clings to.

"Ah, that shouldn't be too difficult. I'm Valjean. What's your name?"

"I don't know, in this language." he answers.

"Hello! I'm George. This is my sister Etta." The boy interjects, and points to the little girl who lingers behind him. "We can pick you a new name!"

"I like that one." The other man points to the street sign.

George peers up at it.

"Grand… R." He reads the first letter of Rue on the sign, then looks to Valjean, who smiles and nods approvingly. George looks back to the sign and studies it intensely, before frowning, then nodding determinedly. "R. I like it."

The other man nods as well, rolling the name inside his head before deciding he likes it too.

"R, come and play with us!"

R takes his hand as George leads them back to the lawn, Etta following carefully. They spend the morning playing several rounds of hide and seek and race games before Valjean eventually sighs and says it's time to leave.

As Valjean drives, R stares out the window and watches the French countryside whizz by. Occasionally he catches a glimpse of a cow or a sheep and grins, not noticing Valjean's look of bemusement. When the scenery turns less and less green and more and more buildings and traffic start appearing Valjean turns to him and says "We'll drop off the children before we get on to finding your friend," and R nods understanding. Eventually the car pulls into a friendly drive and George gets out in a sleepy haze. Valjean carries the sleeping Etta out of the car as R follows. Before they reach the door it is swung open and a young woman steps out. George walks past her into the house without a glance, still in his zombie like state.

"My daughter, Cosette." Valjean explains to R.

"Hello Papa," says Cosette, after shaking off her son's lack of greeting. "I'm really not looking forward to his teenage years. How were they?"

"Angels, as always."

"You spoil them."

"I have never spoiled a child in my life."

Cosette snorts.

"This is R," Valjean continues, "Myriel's sent me to help him find his friend."

"Lovely to meet you," Cosette says, and takes his hand. "Will the two of you stay for dinner? Marius would love to see you."

It's hardly past lunch time, but Valjean has always found it difficult to deny his daughter anything, and he gives R a consolatory smile, and a promise to not stay too long. R follows them into the house. As Valjean goes to tuck Etta into her bed, he continues along the hallway, to find George has properly woken up and is sitting with Cosette, describing his trip.

"And then we met R. He's magic." He says, confidingly, before returning to his story about the crab that kept following them.

R sits down in an armchair opposite them. He likes the children, they remind him of the seal pups that will race the waves, always eager to play. But he feels himself getting agitated. He's lost two days already. When George wraps up his story, he goes over to Cosette and points urgently to the license photo.

"Is this your friend?" She says, before looking properly at the photo. "Oh, it's Enjolras,"

"Enjolras?"

"This person, this is Enjolras. This is who you're looking for?"

"Yes, you know him?"

"I sure do. He works with my husband. We can call him right now."

"I need to see him." 

Cosette goes to retrieve her phone. R can see Enjolras's picture on screen as it starts ringing, and he stares at it before Cosette makes him move the phone up to his ear.

"Enjolras," he says, once the ringing has stopped.

"Ack!" He hears Enjolras exclaim, then the line goes dead.

"Enjolras? Cosette, he's gone."

"It's OK, we'll try again." She redials, but the line doesn't connect. "No worries, he can be a little spacey at times. Why don't we get Marius to bring him over for dinner? You can see him tonight." 

George, tired of being ignored, drags R to play with his trainset while Cosette calls her husband. Valjean re-joins them, and the four of them spend the afternoon making a pie for dinner, Etta joining them after her nap. Before R has a chance to worry about Enjolras they hear a key click in the front door and footsteps down the hall, but the man who steps into the room is alone. R releases the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, then takes another few in quick succession. Enjolras isn't here. Something unpleasant settles in his gut, and he looks to Cosette.

She can't stand the look on R's face, and walks over to him and takes his hand, to Marius's surprise. Her tone is filled with warmth though when she greets him. Marius answers distractedly as Etta and George rush over to him and he sweeps them up in a hug. It isn't until he's gone through George's recount, with Etta's additions, and he's seated across the bench from them that Cosette gets to ask about Enjolras.

Marius explains, "Well, I asked him, and then I asked him again, and then I insisted. Then he got a little mean."

"Oh, sweetie."

"I told him it was really important to you, and you had someone you wanted him to meet, and I think he thought we were trying to set him up, again." Marius pauses, "That's not what we're trying to do, right?"

"Of course not."

"Right, well that's what I said, but he wouldn't budge. I'm sorry. He was acting strange today, anyway."

"Do you know where he is?" R interjects.

"At home, presumably."

"Can we go there?"

"It's OK, R. You can stay with us tonight, and you can go with Marius to work in the morning to see Enjolras." Cosette assures him.

"But-" R's not sure he can trust her anymore. She said Enjolras would be here.

"He'll be there in the morning, I promise. Enjolras is always at work, and he's not very good with surprise visits."

Valjean takes the guest room, but Cosette sets R up on the couch, and at his request shows him how to work the television.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is more of an interlude, sorry. Who knew it was so hard to get your mermaid from Point A to Point B?


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras boards the train to work Tuesday morning with his eyes half-closed and headphones in, determined today will be different, and ignoring the steel grip around his heart that hasn't let go since Monaco.

When he had finally gotten back to Paris late Sunday night, after an awkward weekend with his parents and a guiltily returned private plane, he headed straight for Combeferre and Courfeyrac's place. Courfeyrac had opened the door ready to sass him, but after one look at Enjolras had instead opened his arms, and Enjolras had walked neatly into them, and held on tight.

Combeferre had prescribed him ice-cream and movies, and the three of them had spent the night cuddled up on the couch, Enjolras in the middle, until they all fell asleep, so, though exhausted, when Enjolras arrived at work Monday morning he was feeling slightly better. The tightness in his chest was still there, a constant reminder of something he still didn't understand, but he was able to sit at his desk and get through a good amount of paperwork without staring into the distance or crying, which felt impressive.

He had tried to keep working but he hadn't been able to escape seeing a familiar curl of dark hair, or that shade of green that reminded him of _those_ eyes, kept hearing a certain voice calling out to him, but when he turned to look it was never more than his imagination.

As the day went on he got more and more distracted. He had nearly died of fright when Cosette had called and instead of her bell like tones he heard the gruff voice of his imagination. He had hung up and immediately called Combeferre.

"What are the early signs of psychosis?"

Combeferre had sighed before answering. "Enjolras, I really don't have time for this today."

"But what if I was under the water for longer than I thought, and it damaged my brain. I have a lot still to accomplish, I need to be prepared."

"Why is it that when you're actually sick you ignore it to dangerous limits but when the slightest thing happens you assume the worst? I spent all night with you, I didn't notice any signs of neurological damage. And also you know better than to perpetuate misinformation and the stigma around mental illness." Combeferre let that sink in for a moment, before saying, much softer, " I know you're hurting, I'm sorry, but that's probably all that's wrong with you, and all that will help is time."

"… But- It's just- I feel awful."

"I know. But there isn't any cure for that. Yet. I really have to go but I'll call you tonight."

Enjolras hung up and tried to go back to his briefings. There wasn't enough he could do yet for the Thenardier case, but he pored over it anyway, figuring feeling angry would be better than feeling this lost.

Unfortunately, that was when Pontmercy had wandered over.

The last thing Enjolras needed that day was to be set up with some random guy. But, he could admit, he may have been harsher than necessary while explaining that. Enjolras had only deliberately made a few people cry in his lifetime, and Marius wasn't one of them. This time.

He still feels a bit bad about that. When he gets off the train and stops for coffee he picks one up for Marius along with his usual order.

When he gets to work he hands Eponine her hot chocolate and asks "Is Marius in yet?"

"Why are you asking me?" she accuses, and he withers under her stare, utterly confounded by what could have caused that reaction.

"Uh,"

"Sorry. I haven't seen him yet."  
Enjolras heads for his office and drops both coffees. He walks back out, forgetting the mess.

"Ep, can you come here a second?"

She takes her time locking her computer, or so it seems to Enjolras, before walking over.

"There's someone in my office."

Eponine looks in to the room before turning back to Enjolras.

"And?.." She says plainly, waiting for him to explain. 

"You see him too?"

"Yes. Who is he?"

"Ep, how do I look?"

She gives him a look that makes him immediately regret asking.

"OK, I'll talk to you later." He walks bravely into the room, and time stops.

Enjolras reaches his hand out without thinking, and the other man takes it in his own. He isn't sure how long they stand there, long enough for the coffee to have sunk through the carpet to stain, but Enjolras still can't bring himself to care.

"Enjolras-"

"How are you here? I mean, how did you find me?"

"Marius showed me."

"What?"

"Marius, he drove us. In the car."

"But why- how did you know he knew- You know what. Never mind. I don't care. Are you free today?"

"I want to stay with you."

"Perfect."

Their hands are still linked, and Enjolras feels giddy and immature, but he doesn't let go. He leads them out of his office instead, and is almost out the door by the time Eponine catches up with him.

"Enjolras, are you all right?"

"I'm - taking a personal day."

"Lamarque's office called. He's willing to meet with us to talk about the Thenardier project before he leaves the city this afternoon."

Enjolras snaps back to reality. "What time's the meeting?"

"Eleven,"

But not enough to release his hand. "Great, I'll meet you there." He says, and walks out, leaving Eponine speechless behind them.

They get the train back to Enjolras's apartment. When they get home Enjolras swings open the door and let's them inside, and suddenly they're kissing again, Enjolras isn't quite sure how, like he isn't sure how they make it to the couch, or how Enjolras ends up in the other man's lap.

"I don't even know your name. What is it?" Enjolras asks, after eventually pulling away.

"R."

"Grantaire?" Enjolras hears.

"… Sure." Grantaire decides, and kisses him.

Enjolras is lost again.

 

 

***

 

 

He has to sprint to make it to Lamarque's office a half-hour early - his usual designated arrival time. He had left Grantaire with a plea not to go anywhere, and a promise he'd be back as soon as he could.

Eponine arrives not long after him and flicks his ear before sitting down next to him.

"Are you twelve?"

"Right back at you, Mr. Secret Boyfriend. Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

"Later, I promise. We have to prep."

Eponine, uncharacteristically, lets it go.

The meeting goes well - Lamarque is heading to the proposal site today to scout out public opinion, and he seemed open to their points and promised to keep them informed - but it isn't the meeting that puts the skip in Enjolras's step and the floating feeling he walks out of the building with.

"Thanks Eponine, you were amazing in there. I'll see you later." Enjolras remembers to say, and starts to walk off. Eponine grabs his arm before he can.

"No. Explain. Now." She leads them to the café outside Lamarque's building, and sits Enjolras down with only the glare of her eye.

It's only as Enjolras tries to find the words to explain that he realises how strange he's been acting.

"Oh my God, Ep. I think I'm in trouble."

"That much is clear. Who is he?"

"I don’t even _know_." And really, he does know nothing about Grantaire. He's just left him alone in his apartment when he could be a murderer, or a thief, or a conservative. He feels like he's waking up from a dream. He waits for the accompanying panic to follow this realisation, but it doesn't come. He still feels like sunshine.

"His name's Grantaire. We met in Monaco, and I thought I'd never see him again, but then he found me. Do you believe in destiny?" Enjolras says and then groans at his own question, letting his head fall into his hands.  _Who has he become?_ Eponine pats it condescendingly.

"I believe in love." She says it softly, as though it's hard for her to admit. "It's just that, this is strange for you. Do you know what you're doing? Do you know that you can trust him?"

Enjolras knows he probably shouldn't. Knows that there's still too much he doesn't know about Grantaire, when he wants to know everything. He just hopes he has the rest of his life to find out.

"Do you think I'm rushing things?"

Eponine rolls her eyes at him. "I think I'd be a fool to give you any advice about love."

"Because of your terrible taste in men?"

"Jerk," she says as she swats at his head, Enjolras just ducking out of the way in time. "Because you'd never listen to me. You've got that look about this you get sometimes about Jurisprudence. I'm not getting involved."

Enjolras can't tell if she's insulting him or not, but before he has time to respond Eponine adds, softer, "Just promise me you'll take care of your heart."

Enjolras can't help but agree.

When he gets back to his apartment, and finds it empty, he doesn't panic. He takes out his laptop and gets some work done, and waits for Grantaire, a free and capable citizen, to return.

He prides himself on glancing at the clock on his laptop less than fifty times.

It's late afternoon before Grantaire returns, coming in through the balcony window as though it's natural.

 _Cat burglar? Would that be a deal-breaker?_ Enjolras wonders.

"-Enjolras! I thought you wouldn't be back for an hour."

Grantaire doesn't hesitate but sits down next to him, and Enjolras bristles at how much better he instantly feels.

"It's been 5 hours,"

"Oh. To be honest I wasn't sure what you meant by an hour. But my French is getting better, and I met your city."

Despite his proximity, he seems almost shy speaking to Enjolras.

"Is this all you brought with you to Paris?"

"Mostly,"

He's still wearing the novice robes gifted him - neither Marius nor Enjolras had much that would fit.

"Let's go shopping." Enjolras decides, and stands up, holding out a hand for Grantaire to take.

 

The op-shop Enjolras leads them to is within walking distance of Enjolras's apartment, letting them talk as they go, but their conversation feels oddly stilted, as though they've fallen out of rhythm.

When they get to the store Enjolras brings himself to ask the question he's been dreading, "How long are you in Paris for?"

"I have to be back before the moon fades."

Enjolras thinks about that. "So, a month?," remembering the dark sky on the beach. He didn't know there were places still in the world that operate under a solely lunar calendar. It seems the sort of pointless eccentricity Monaco would indulge in, but Grantaire seemed too unfamiliar with French for that to be his homeland. Every time Enjolras has broached the subject of where he's from Grantaire hasn't replied seriously. Part of him wonders if he's just that infuriating a person or if he's really trying to hide something.

"Well, you can pick out the things you'll need. I know the owner so I should be able to get a discount."

Enjolras heads over to the back of the store to see if Jehan's working, as Grantaire looks through shirts. Someone else is at the register, so Enjolras wanders over to the book section while he waits for Grantaire to come out of the fitting room.

He's not expecting Grantaire to emerge in a three piece suit.

"Where did you even find that?"

"Over there," Grantaire gestures vaguely. "Why, is it wrong? Should I change?"

"No, it, uh- looks good." Enjolras has blushed more in the past week than he thinks he has in his entire life. "You'll probably need some more casual stuff while you're here though. What do you wear where you're from?"

"Most of us don't bother with clothes."

"Right." Enjolras thinks Grantaire's probably teasing him, but he's distracted by the mental picture that's conjured.

He picks out some slacks and a few button-ups, and, despite insisting he doesn't need them, some shoes they find in Grantaire's size. When they leave the shop they pause on the pavement outside. Enjolras has still learnt hardly anything about the other man, and he's scared to return to his apartment for fear that his questions will be washed away by distraction once they're alone again.

"We should get dinner. In a restaurant, and talk."

"It's a date," Grantaire says, and smiles, and yes, this is a good idea, Enjolras congratulates himself.

Grantaire leads them to a place. He's only been in the city for half a day but Enjolras isn't fussy or knowledgeable about food and is happy to let Grantaire take the lead. The restaurant is small and crowded, with a live band playing in the corner. It's louder than any place Enjolras would pick, but the food looks good.

They get a booth and sit across from each other, but it's loud enough they have to speak up to hear each other, and it's enough to make them lose the rhythm they've been regaining, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

Enjolras studies the menu, and tries to ignore his panic: that he's ruining this already. He's always struggled with small talk, at making easy conversation and talking nonsense, when his thoughts are rarely filled with anything small, and Grantaire doesn't seem to be any better at it.

He's still not ready when their waitress arrives to take their order, and panics and orders the first thing on the menu, despite his shellfish allergy. Grantaire orders something he doesn't recognise, and they fall back into silence.

"So, how do you know Marius?" Enjolras says eventually.

"He's married to Cosette."

"Did you meet Cosette at college? England, is that where you're from?"

"No. Where I'm from, there are no Cosettes. How do you know Marius?" 

Enjolras sighs at Grantaire once again dodging the question, but he answers him anyway. "We met in college, but he does some work at my firm." It's easy to talk about work. He grabs on to the topic like a lifeline. "We're a non-profit specialising in Environmental Law and Conservation. At the moment we're trying to prevent the construction of an unnecessary bypass from Paris to the west coast. That's what today's meeting was about. I still can't believe the project was approved in France in the 21st century. Eponine and I are trying to prove corruption, but it's slow going, and we're running out of time. But Lamarque seems to be on our side. I actually feel like we may win this one."

"Do you often? Win?"

Enjolras falters. "We do our best. It's- been a hard year. But compared to where we were, even five years ago- The people are starting to fight, to protect our climate and our oceans, to demand change."

Grantaire looks miserable.

Enjolras pauses, then tries to change the subject. "What do you do?"

"I float around, mostly." Grantaire looks down, and refuses to meet his eyes. "I don't know why you're bothering with Lamarque. The tides go and they return, and nothing ever changes. Or if it does it gets worse. Each year the water tastes worse, and there's fewer folk to talk to. What could you do, anyway? You're just a human."

The waitress interrupts with their food, and Enjolras isn't even annoyed he can't eat what he ordered, his appetite having disappeared. Grantaire bites in to what looks to be a still-shelled lobster, but Enjolras is too distracted to pay attention.

This isn't going at all how he planned.

When they've finished eating Enjolras's phone buzzes and he reads a message from Courf, eagerly welcoming the diversion.

"A few of my friends are getting drinks round the corner, do you mind if we go join them?"

"If you want to." Grantaire replies, and Enjolras stands up. The anger he'd felt fighting -discussing- with Grantaire has mostly dissipated. Now he just feels tired. He leads the way out of the restaurant hoping this night won't get any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'm really sorry about all the ocean metaphors. I can't seem to stop myself.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, let me get this straight," Jehan says from across the table, while Enjolras drowns himself in his tumbler. "You kissed a naked stranger on the beach who, after disappearing into the ocean, showed up two days later at your office, no money, luggage, or explanation, and now you're worried things aren't working out between you?"

He knows it's bad when he can hear judgement in Jehan's voice. Enjolras takes another sip and nods.

"But, wait, why did you go to Monaco in the first place?"

Laughter sounds from across the room, and Enjolras glares in its direction.

"I was drunk, it seemed like the thing to do." Enjolras has avoided thinking too hard about that night.

"Seriously?"

"...I don't know what else to say."

As their friendship group's unofficial relationship expert, Enjolras couldn't help seeking Jehan out after his third cocktail. Grantaire is still talking, laughing, with their other friends, and Enjolras can't help but envy their easy comradery. It seems the only person Grantaire finds it difficult to talk with is Enjolras.

"This isn't like you." Jehan says eventually.

"I know. It's something else."

"What do you mean?"

Enjolras isn't really sure himself. He contemplates it for a moment, thinking back to his conversation with Eponine. "I don't know - have you ever felt like you were meant to know someone? Or do something?"

"You mean like fate?"

"I don't believe in fate." Enjolras replies, but it comes out too quickly.

"What do you believe in?"

"I just-" Enjolras flounders, this destiny track something he's still not ready to face. He diverts instead, saying "I like him. I don't want to screw this up."

"Then don't."

"That's all you have to say? I need help…" Enjolras lets his head sink to the table.

"If it really is meant to be, it will work itself out."

"But-" Enjolras starts from where his head still leans against the wood.

"You need to relax. Go out again. What can you tell from one date anyway? And what are you rushing things for?"

Until the moon fades. Enjolras's mind speaks unbidden, but it's not just that. He feels his world is ending.

Not expecting an answer, Jehan continues, "You're in the most romantic city in the world. Spend some time together. And if it doesn't work out - it will be OK, I promise."

Of course it would be OK, Enjolras thinks. It's just romance. It means little in the scheme of things.

Combeferre joins them after that, Enjolras jerking his head back up, and he spends the rest of the night catching himself up on his friend's lives, already embarrassed by how much time he's taken up talking about his own personal life. Something stops him from heading back to Grantaire, but each time he glances over at him he appears to be in the highest of spirits: conspiring with Joly and Bossuet, braiding Eponine's hair, arm wrestling with Bahorel or dancing with Courfeyrac, and going through a staggering amount of alcohol.

Eventually things wind down; the lateness of the hour makes itself apparent, and Enjolras can't avoid it any longer. He crosses the room.

Grantaire is staring at the tea lights on the table with such intense concentration Enjolras feels awkward interrupting him. He lays a hand on his shoulder, and Grantaire leans into it, but doesn't draw his gaze away from the flame.

"They're like starlight. Who did this?"

Enjolras doesn't bother to answer that. The two stare at the candlelight for a moment, before Enjolras eventually says "It's getting late. I'm going to head home."

Grantaire stands up, abandoning his stars.

"You can stay if you want. I'm sure Courf won't mind you crashing at his."

Grantaire doesn't even consider it, and they walk out together, to Enjolras's immense relief.

 It's a brisk night, despite the season, and Enjolras can't help but lean into Grantaire, sharing their warmth between them. Grantaire slots his hand into his own, and it feels so right that it makes Enjolras wonder what he's been worrying about, their awkward dinner feeling distant, almost forgotten.

"There aren't drinks like these where I'm from. They're much better here." Grantaire says.

Enjolras sighs at himself before softly saying back, "Is there anything else here that's better?"

Grantaire doesn't reply, but swings around and raises their joined hands, pinning them against the building next to them, pulling Enjolras along.

Grantaire kisses him, a soft press of their lips, lingering, and Enjolras's body lights up and floods with warmth. He pushes himself closer, his free hand flying to Grantaire's neck and just resting there, as he deepens the kiss, Grantaire pushing against him.

This part is so easy, it makes him forget everything else.

But it's not what we wants.

At least, not the only thing he wants.

He pulls away, and takes Grantaire's hand back from where it's snaked around his waist, and leads him back along the street.

He means to get answers: to find out who he is, where he's from, why he believes so little in Enjolras already, but is still here anyway, but it's not words he wants. He wants Grantaire to show him. But mostly, he wants to linger in this feeling a little longer, to stay swept up in this current that's gripped them and hold on tight.

For the first time he can remember, Enjolras feels exactly where he is: not worrying about the future or thinking about what to do next. Just here, on a clear and cool Parisian night, Grantaire's hand in his.

His questions can wait a little longer.

They walk back in silence.

When they get home they fall into bed together, Enjolras too tired to let himself overthink sleeping arrangements. He lets his eyes fall shut on today. With the warmth of Grantaire's body next to him, it's hard to remember that only yesterday he hadn't been able to sleep from the pain in his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras isn't ready to wake up.

Instead, he takes some time off work, and shows Grantaire Paris.

They go walking along the Seine, Grantaire convincing him to dance with him when they pass by a group by the water. He gives up the third time Enjolras steps on his toes, but they don't break apart straight away, swaying to the music, their eyes locked on each other. They go to the Louvre, and then, seeing Grantaire's enraptured look, the Orsay, then the Orangerie, and a few smaller museums Feuilly recommends.

They visit Notre Dame, and get gelato, and sit beneath the Alexandre bridge, trading stories about the tourists passing by and sharing bites. They drink wine in hidden alleys. Well, Grantaire drinks, and Enjolras watches, deciding he's had enough alcohol this past week to last a while.

They still fight.

Well, their own version of fighting, where Enjolras is never really sure what's going on or how it happens, or if they're actually on the same side.

The problem with Grantaire was that Enjolras never knew what he was talking about. One minute they'd be having a seemingly normal discussion, and the next he'd be ranting about the downfall of Poseidon or the East Australian Current, and calling Enjolras human as though that were an insult.

They never stay mad for long, Enjolras is relieved to discover.

He has to go back to work eventually. He wants to go back. The knowledge of how much work is building makes him nauseous, but when he gets up the next morning it's much harder to leave Grantaire, still sleeping and so warm, than he ever thought it could be.

He's almost late leaving.

When he gets to work Eponine comes to find him almost immediately. He doesn't understand how she's always there before him, no matter what time he arrives.

"Soooo…" She swings into the chair next to his and rolls closer. "How was your holiday?"

"It was fine." He isn't going to blush.

"Really? You're looking great. Glowing, almost-"

Enjolras cuts her off, asking "Is there something you need?"

She grins back at him. "You don't want to talk more? I heard from Courfeyrac-"

"Eponine."

"Fine. I have a lot to catch you up on anyway. A little birdie may have got me the passcodes to Thenardier's internal server."

"Uh, wow. Why didn't you lead with that?"

"I haven't seen you blush in three years. That's almost more fun."

 _Dammit_.

She fills him in on some smaller cases she had taken over while he was away, and dumps him with some of her paperwork in exchange. The time passes quickly after that, until Grantaire shows up at his office at the end of the day. They've agreed to have dinner with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and Enjolras's brain is still buzzing by the time they get to their place, Courfeyrac opening the door with enthusiasm.

"Thank God you're here,"

He ushers them through the threshold and into the living room.

"You have to settle something for us," Courfeyrac says, gesturing to Combeferre in the kitchen. "Oh, let me take your coats. It's good to see you again, R."

Combeferre comes out of the kitchen with wine and greetings. He's filling glasses as he says "Dinner should be ready soon. How was your day?"

"Don't try to distract them!"

"I was being a good host, you should try it."

"There will be time for that when the fate of our wedding is not at stake!"

"What’s going on?" Enjolras asks.

Combeferre takes a sip from his glass before he answers, "Courfeyrac seems to be under the mistaken notion-"

"I am not mistaken. You're telling it wrong. What happened is, I've found the perfect venue for our wedding. A tiny little orchard just outside the city, that's part of this old house that looks like it's come out of a fairytale, and they just happen to have an opening in a month's time, and Combeferre," He punctuates his name fiercely, "has decided we can't get married there, because for _some_ reason, he thinks it's haunted."

"That's not what I said! I said that-"

"If you think I'm going to let some stupid ghosts who couldn't bother to finish their business before they died ruin our wedding, you are very wrong!"

"Courf, please-" Combeferre suppresses his laughter. "That's not what I said. I think it's great the house is haunted. Of course we should get married there."

"Wait, really?"

"I couldn't think of a cooler place."

Courfeyrac pulls Combeferre in and kisses him softly, before turning bashfully towards Enjolras and Grantaire.

"Well, thanks for helping us settle that. Shall we eat?" Courfeyrac says, heading for the kitchen to grab plates.

Enjolras catches up to Courfeyrac, who hands him a salad bowl as Combeferre ushers them towards the dining room.

"You two don't actually believe in ghosts, right?"

"As long as they let me get married, I could not care less."

"I don't believe this. How can two perfectly reasonable, functioning grown-ups align themselves in ideas without evidence?"

Combeferre steers Enjolras into a chair, the others sitting down with him at the table.

"Enjolras, we've talked about this…" Combeferre starts.

"No, we haven't. You don't believe in ghosts do you?" He says to Grantaire, his tone bordering on horrified.

Grantaire looks down into his wine glass before answering. "I have seen things my eyes would not believe, just as I have believed things my eyes have shown me. Now I find it safer to believe in nothing, and no one, and ghosts as such must be included."

Combeferre's stare cuts into him, as he considers Grantaire's answer. Eventually he leans forward and comments "To believe without evidence is a dangerous thing, but it can be just as dangerous to deny without evidence."

"Maybe so," Grantaire concedes, "but if you had seen what I have, you might find it to be safer."

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asks.

"Only that where I'm from, there are worse things than ghosts to believe in, so why bother about any of it."

"You don't really mean that, do you? You can't shut out evidence because it's difficult to process."

"Why not?"

"Because it is the responsibility of every citizen to assess their environment and draw conclusions based on facts. You can't just shut out the world because you don't like what its saying."

"So you agree with me now?" Combeferre pipes.

"Ghosts aren't the same thing and you know it," Enjolras tries to keep his voice down, as Courfeyrac pours himself some more wine. "I'm talking about facts, not fairytales. Ghosts are pure conjecture, based on a few unexplained phenomenon."

"Do you only believe in what you can see? Do you never conjecture yourself?" Grantaire asks. There's something in his tone that makes his voice thick, and Enjolras struggles to make himself understood.

"No, it doesn't have to be me. But trusted sources are hard to find. I prefer to verify things for myself." It was something he and Eponine argued about often. She thought he wasted too much time on research, but he had always found it difficult to believe something he had heard from someone else. It was better to find out first hand.

"And if there's no other way? If the thing can't be shown to you?"

"Then it would be wrong to believe it."

"You can't just dismiss the experience of thousands of people, simply because it's not happened to you." Combeferre pipes in, startling Enjolras, who had almost forgotten the others were still in the room. He has the feeling he and Grantaire were having two different conversations.

Combeferre continues, "Why, the US government has been-"

Courfeyrac groans, cutting him off, his empty glass rolling in his hands. "Can we please stop talking about this?"

The three of them look down at their plates.

"This is really good." Enjolras says after some time, gesturing to the pasta.

Combeferre swallows his own bite to answer. "I'm trying out a lot of old recipes - for the wedding."

"Do you need any help with anything?"

"Can you take out my parents?" Courfeyrac interjects. "Kidding," he adds, at Enjolras's shocked look.

"I love your parents-"

"So do I, obviously. But they've turned into monsters. It actually would be helpful if you distracted them for a bit. They love you."

"I'd be happy to help."

"You're welcome to come to the wedding, of course, Grantaire." Combeferre adds.

"It sounds a beautiful thing. I've never seen a wedding before. But I'm afraid I'll have to return before then." Grantaire didn't hesitate refusing, Enjolras notes.

"Surely you could stay just a few weeks longer?" Enjolras tries not to let hope catch in his throat; this could be the excuse he's been looking for.

Grantaire won't meet his eye as he says, "There's a next to nothing chance that would be possible."

"Excuse me." Enjolras gets up to use the restroom.

He splashes some water on his face, determined not to ruin their night. It's just, he's never felt this happy before. Even though work has been disheartening, and he's been distracted, he doesn't want this to end. He feels ridiculous, having a mini-meltdown in his friend's bathroom. It's not like he's learned anything new. He knows he's being ridiculous. That he should stay in the present. That's never been so hard, before.

When he heads back, he pauses before entering the dining room, hearing his name spoken.

"Look, that's not what he meant. We like you a lot. You seem like a nice guy," he hears Courfeyrac say, "but Enjolras has never acted this way before, and we're worried."

"Enjolras has nothing to fear from me," Grantaire says back.

"Maybe not intentionally, we're just asking you to be careful with his heart."

Enjolras feels a stab of annoyance. He isn't a child. But then, he's given this talk to most of his friend's partners. That knowledge doesn't make the feeling go away, though, adding to the cocktail of confusing emotions he's now carrying.

He exaggerates his footsteps before entering the room, ignoring the way the others break off their words conspicuously.

"Hey, it's getting kind of late. Are you ready to go?" He asks of Grantaire, who stands up with him.

"Sure. Thank you for the wonderful dinner. I'll be careful with what you said." Grantaire says, and Enjolras hugs his friends goodbye, before they head back out into the cool Parisian streets.

They don't walk for long before Enjolras stops them, needing to say something.

"'Taire, why did you come to Paris?"

"To see you." He replies with a smile, turning to face Enjolras.

It's nice to hear, but the pressure in his chest remains.

"And why do you have to leave?"

Grantaire waits to answer him, his eyes never leaving Enjolras's, for long enough that it feels unnerving. "If I stay, I can't ever go back."

That makes no sense.

Enjolras tries to work it out.

"Is it a visa thing?"

"I don't want to talk about this-" Grantaire turns back to the sky.

"You should let me look over it. I have friends in immigration-"

"You must have known this couldn't last forever? Nothing good ever does."

"Maybe not where you're from." Enjolras crosses his arms, his tone more emotional than he likes. "Why are you so eager to go back there?"

"You wouldn't understand-"

"Then help me!" Enjolras crowds closer to him. "You won't even tell me where you're from."

"I can't tell you. It's not- I'm not allowed-"

"What are you so afraid of? What sort of place is this? Where they don't have music, or wine, or clothes?"

"I can't do this right now." Grantaire walks away from him, and Enjolras watches him go, ashamed of himself. When he hears his phone chime in his pocket, and opens it to find a text from Eponine, he eagerly embraces the distraction.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes five rings for the line to connect, and Enjolras panics further with every one.

"Courf. I need your help."

"Enjolras? What time is it?" Courfeyrac says, his voice thick from sleep. Enjolras knows he won't mind. This isn't the first time either of them have called in the middle of the night.

"What's happened?" When Courf speaks again, his tone is resigned.

The guard taps on the bars, a reminder his time is running out. He isn't exactly a favourite around here, despite his frequent visits. Enjolras doesn't have the time to waste.

"So, I need a favour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long :/ (There should only be another couple chapters and they're mostly written)  
> Can you tell I've never been to Paris?  
> Do y'all believe in ghosts?


	5. Chapter 5

"What's happened?"

Grantaire can hear Courfeyrac's voice, growing loud with worry, the night calm enough that it carries into the living room where he lies on the couch, a blanket tucked over him.

"Well, that won't be a problem. He showed up here about half an hour ago. I tried calling your mobile." There is a pause before Courfeyrac speaks again. "I'll ask. He hasn't said much. Hang on." Courfeyrac pads out of his bedroom, Combeferre trailing him, curiosity and concern intermingled on his face.

"Grantaire, are you awake?" Courfeyrac gently nudges his shoulder, as Combeferre turns on the lamp in the corner. "Enjolras is on the phone. It's OK if you don't want to speak to him."

"It's fine." He holds out his hand, and Courfeyrac passes him the phone.

"Enjolras?"

"Grantaire, I'm so sorry. Are you OK?"

When he hears Enjolras's voice on the other end of the line he instantly feels better.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry too." Grantaire pauses. He needs to see him. He's been thinking about it all night. Had spent some time wandering the streets, contemplating what to do, before deciding to risk it, and try to tell Enjolras the truth. Only, when he returned to the apartment it had been empty. "I have to talk to you about something. Where are you? You weren't at home."

Not knowing what else to do, he had gone back to Courfeyrac and Combeferre's who had convinced him to stay with them till morning.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Well, I can come to you. Where are you?"

"Unfortunately that's not possible, either." Grantaire hears a loud noise coming from the line that makes him startle, but Enjolras keeps talking, unfazed, "I kind of got arrested. It's a bullshit charge - but they're going to hold me for the night." The noise gets louder, and Enjolras sounds a bit more anxious as he says, "I'm really sorry, I haven't got enough time. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The line goes dead.

He hands the phone back to Courfeyrac.

"What's happened? Where is he?" Combeferre asks.

"What's 'arrested'? I haven't heard that word before."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac both groan.

"What exactly did he say?"

Grantaire repeated Enjolras's words. "Is he OK?"

"He'll be fine. He has a tendency to piss off the local law enforcement. He's too good a lawyer for anything to ever stick though. We can go get him tomorrow morning."

Grantaire feels relief wash over him. Enjolras is OK. He can talk to him tomorrow; he still has time.

Combeferre yawns, tiredness hitting him suddenly now he knows there's nothing to worry about. "We should all try and get some sleep before then."

Grantaire says goodnight to them both, as they return to their bedroom, and he settles back against the couch, making himself comfortable. He should be able to sleep easier, now he knows Enjolras is alright, but he still feels all wired up, and there's something else he wants to do.

 

He waits a while, until the night is still once more and he is certain the other two men are asleep, then he slips off the couch and down the hall, carefully opening the bathroom door and sliding inside.

He walks over to the large, claw-footed bathtub, and stares with barefaced desire. Enjolras doesn't have one; he hasn't even seen the other man shower, but he's seen them on the television, and when he discovered it earlier he hadn't been able to get the idea out of his head.

He turns on the taps, fiddling with them until the temperature is right, and adds the salt he'd swiped from the dining room table. When the water is full to the top he throws one leg over and sinks in.

It's a weight off his shoulders, a scratch to an itch felt deep in his bones. The transformation comes, almost familiar by now. He lets his tail flop out to the side, sending a slosh of water over the bathroom floor, submerges his head fully, and just lets himself breathe, for the first time in weeks. He stays like that for a while, eventually pulling his head and chest out so his tail can be mostly under the water.

There's a rustle at the door. He'd locked it to be safe, but that doesn't seem to have mattered, because a second later Courfeyrac comes barging in, assuring him he's not looking, he promises, he just needs-

"Holy shit-"

And then, "Combeferre!.."

"Courf, I told you, leave Grantaire alone."

Combeferre appears at the door, one hand covering his eyes whilst he uses the other to try and grope for Courfeyrac and pull him away. Courfeyrac isn't saying anything, just standing there and eventually Combeferre gives up and squints open his eyes to find him.

Instead he freezes.

Grantaire flops gracelessly to the floor and seizes his towel, desperately patting down his tail, as useless as it is now, while the two watch him silently.

Combeferre is the first to speak.

"I knew it!!"

Courfeyrac actually manages to tear his gaze away to give his fiancé an incredulous look.

"You did not."

"Well, obviously I didn't know, but I suspected."

"You did not!"

"Babe, just let me have this-"

Grantaire has stopped patting down and is now staring awkwardly up from the floor. It's almost enough anyway; he can feel his  legs starting to take form once more.

"-He disappeared into the ocean-"

When he can, Grantaire jumps up from the floor and heads for the door, the towel still mostly wrapped around him. He needs to get out. He knows what happens next. Has heard horror stories from every sea creature he shared his plan with.

"R, wait."

He dodges the hands that reach for him, and lunges out the door. Shit. He's got nowhere to go. Enjolras is still gone. He can't go back yet, not before-

In his scramble out the door he slips on the wet floor and goes down, sliding on the hard-wood floor of the hallway.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac stand over him, and he looks up at them, knowing he's truly trapped.

"Enjolras is going to kill us," Courfeyrac says, looking down with concern.

"You can't tell him-" Grantaire can hear the panic in his voice, but he needs them to understand.

"Wait - he doesn't know?"

"He can't know, it would-" The terms of the curse are flicking at the inside of his brow, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Now he feels like he's drowning, where only a few moments ago he was breathing so easily.

Combeferre nudges Courf aside so he can kneel next to Grantaire, directing him to look at him and copy his breathing. "We're not going to tell him. We're not going to tell anybody, you can trust us."

Grantaire knows better than to listen to those words, but he doesn't seem to have much of a choice. He lets Combeferre lead him over to the couch.

The two of them sit on the couch opposite him, and Grantaire cherishes the silence while it lasts.

Which isn't long, Combeferre breaking it to vociferate "You're a mermaid?"

"Merman? Fish Person?" Courfeyrac interjects. "How does that work?"

Grantaire stares at the ground and wonders if there are any land animals that could swallow him up where he sits. He's not one to cope well with silence though. "Have you got any wine?" he starts with.

"There's none left."

"Oh." Grantaire sighs.

"I can make some tea?"

"Please."

Grantaire has some time to think while Combeferre goes to the kitchen. Courfeyrac doesn't move, though, staring speechlessly at Grantaire.

"I'm not going to transform, you can stop looking at me like that. I need salt water to make the change." He comments, sick of Courfeyrac staring at him.

"Huh. Why did you, in the bath?"

"I just wanted to. I didn't realise how much I would miss it. Legs really weigh on you."

"Huh." Courfeyrac says again. "I've never noticed," before staring silently once more. Combeferre comes back with the tea, setting down a tray with three cups on the coffee table.

"So…" Combeferre's patience has clearly been weighing on him. He looks ready to burst. "Is it magic or science?"

Courf elbows him. "Wait. First, are you safe? Is Enjolras?"

The question surprises him. "I would never hurt Enjolras."

Courfeyrac's tone is kind as he qualifies "But he doesn't know, and you're planning on leaving again, and not telling him the truth. That's going to hurt him."

Grantaire shudders at the truth in Courfeyrac's words. It's the last thing he wants. "That wasn't my intention. Anyway there's still a way I can stay, if-" Grantaire cuts himself off. "I need to talk to Enjolras."

"Yes. You do."

Grantaire can feel judgement radiating off of them. He'd never meant to hurt Enjolras. Hadn't thought that far ahead when he decided to find him again.

Combeferre adds "You didn't answer, are you safe?"

"...No." Grantaire says eventually. "But Enjolras is, I promise."

"What can we do to help?"

"You can't tell Enjolras, or anyone, about what I am."

"We meant it when we promised that already, but surely there's something we can do. What's wrong? Why are you in danger?"

Grantaire thinks about how to word it, in a way that won't breach the deal he's made.

"If I can't find a way to stay, I'll have to return to the ocean. Probably I'll be turned to sea-foam." He doesn't actually know what the sea-witch will do to him, he only suspects. The sea-foam is probably the best case scenario, knowing Montparnasse.

"So stay."

"It's not that simple; I made a deal. Where I come from, it isn't like up here. Promises have to be kept."

"Is there something else you could offer up? Something we could do in return for letting you stay?"

Grantaire is overwhelmed by their kindness. From what he'd been told, and what he's seen of humans so far, he hasn’t thought much of them. Most were selfish, indifferent to the suffering around them, never listening to what the earth was saying. But, more and more, humans were surprising him. But it's because of this he knows he can't let them help. He had been desperate when he went to Montparnasse. He won't put anyone else in his path.

"No, I'm sorry. But I promise I'll do my best to be able to stay."

The three of them sip their tea. After a moment, Combeferre leans forward.

"So, magic or science?"

Grantaire groans. He had thought the worst was over,  but he can tell this is going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun is beginning to rise over the water, as Javert makes his way back to shore. He had hoped he'd have better luck searching at night, shaking up his routine, and disappointment sits heavy in his stomach, like an anchor caught on the reef.

As Javert's boat pulls in to the dock and he returns to civilisation, his phone lights up with an incoming notification. He prefers to do his research by hand - online isn't safe, Javert had learned that the hard way, his computer hacked and his research destroyed - but he isn't an idiot. He still keeps track of the online world, aware of what a resource it can be.

He needs all the help he can get, at this point. Two weeks have passed and he hasn't caught another glimpse of the mermaid, hasn't detected a trace of subproxical energy, or any new occurrences in the IMS field to indicate the presence of supernatural life. He had been so sure he had finally found what he'd been looking for, all these years, but each day without a sign sinks down his heart, the signals he has already detected getting weaker and weaker.

Still, he isn't one to abandon a job. And though no one is paying him to investigate anymore, he's still determined to see this sighting through.

He unlocks his phone. The notification is only a picture posted by Cosette, Valjean's daughter. He had followed her on social media as a way to keep tabs on Valjean - he'd rather face the kraken itself than actually follow the other man - but they had ended up developing a curious friendship, of sorts. Javert smiles at the photo, a photo of a pie she's made, before catching himself and putting his phone away.

He needs to focus. He won't let Valjean destroy him again, no matter the fondness he's developed for Cosette.

He needs to keep searching.

 

* * *

 

 

The precinct opens at 9a.m., but it takes some time for the officers to come for him. Eventually Enjolras hears the footsteps along the corridor, and he gets up from where he's stretched out over the cold, metal bench.

"You're free to go."

"Thank you so much." Enjolras tries his best to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. One of these days he's going to have to learn how to stop antagonising cops.

When he gets out Grantaire and Combeferre are waiting for him in the lobby.

He hugs Combeferre first, then Grantaire, holding on and asking "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." Grantaire hugs him tighter. "What is this place?"

"Let me guess, they don't have police stations where you're from?" Enjolras really hadn't meant to start this argument again. He sighs. "It's where criminals go."

"But you're not a criminal. I've seen them on the television, and you're nothing like them."

"Unfortunately, our justice system isn't always accurate. Let's get out of here."

He's hardly slept, and he feels rumpled and rotten, but the air tastes sweet as he walks out of the building, head held high. Courfeyrac is waiting outside, double parked, and the three of them get into the car, Courfeyrac leaning over the back seat to hug Enjolras, a gutsy move right in front of the station.

"Do you want to get breakfast?" Courfeyrac asks as he pulls away.

"Yeah, I really would." 

They drive to a local café, one of their favourites, and Enjolras doesn't say much while they order. Eventually, Combeferre gets tired of waiting. "So, what happened?"

Enjolras sighs. "You know the case I've been working on?"

"The bypass one? With Ep's parents?"

"Yeah." Enjolras wishes they'd waited until he'd had coffee to ask him about it. "Well, Eponine still has a few friends inside. She messaged me last night, to do a little sleuthing at the Thenardier building."

Combeferre takes off his glasses and cleans them, the judgement evident in his movements. "Did you do any planning at all?"

"Eponine didn't need me to, she had it all planned. I was only acting as look-out. And it went fine. She got in and out without any problems, but something must have set off an alarm, because there was a patrol car that stopped us when we were walking home. They didn't like my attitude. I didn't like their illegal search and seizure. Long story short, I ended up in lock-up."

"Did you at least find any evidence?"

"Eponine is still going through the data transfer. But, it doesn't look like it." Enjolras sighs again. It was still worth the risk.

Their food comes, and it tastes even better, after a night in a cell.

When they've finished eating they drop Enjolras and Grantaire home, and it's a relief to walk through the door. Grantaire hadn't said much at breakfast, but as he follows Enjolras into the kitchen he pulls him up short and says "We need to talk."

"I know." Enjolras takes a breath to prepare himself for this conversation. He's had all night to think about it. "I'm sorry I yelled last night. If you can't tell me where you're from, I will respect that."

"No, not about that." Grantaire paces the room. "Well, kind of about that. I want to tell you where I'm from, but I can't, and I can't tell you why. But maybe you can guess."

"What possible reason could you have for that?" Enjolras is trying very hard to understand, only Grantaire's being so frustrating. Enjolras can't conceive why he would make him play this game.

"There is a reason, and it's a good one, I promise."

"Fine." Enjolras sticks his chin out. "Can I have a clue, at least?"

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Yes." Enjolras blushes, then feels stupid for it. "Of course I do. You never told me what you were doing on that beach."

"No, not that time. The first time. The very first time."

Enjolras knows he's missing something, and he hates the feeling. "That was the first time."

"No, it wasn't- Do you remember the night before the beach? You thought you were drowning-"

"It was you that saved me! I knew it!"

"No-" Grantaire groans. "It wasn't. You didn't need saving."

"What do you mean?" Enjolras is getting a headache.

"You would have been fine, like the first time we met, twenty years ago."

"We never- What do you mean I would have been fine? I was _drowning_."

Grantaire groans again. He had known this would never work. Still, he has to keep trying.

"No one up here ever _listens._ You can breathe underwater." Enjolras stares, incredulous, but Grantaire keeps talking. "I'm from the _ocean_. Don't you remember? Don't you understand?"

Enjolras pauses. "You mean like from an island?"

"No, not like an island. From under the water."

"Like in a submarine?"

"This is useless." Grantaire sounds desolate, and Enjolras doesn't know how to fix it. He goes over to him, wrapping his arms around his neck.

"It's OK. I meant it when I said you didn't have to tell me."

Grantaire leans in to the hug. "But I want to stay."

"Then stay."

"It's not that simple." He says softly, regretfully.

"It is. Or it can be. I solve these kinds of problems for a living. Just tell me what it is."

"You can't fix everything, Enjolras."

The words cause a stab of irritation in Enjolras's chest. Grantaire should still give him the chance to try.

He doesn't have time to say anything before Grantaire leans his forehead against his own and adds, even softer, "I love you."

The words cause a flutter in Enjolras's belly, and he leans against him. "Me, too."

Grantaire groans, and Enjolras still can't see what he's missing.

He knows he doesn't always notice things. He gets distracted. Especially when it comes to people, and emotions. Right now all he wants is to get through to Grantaire, and find a way to make him stay, but it's like they're speaking two different languages.

He feels exhausted.

Eventually he pulls back, deciding to stop this conversation before they end up fighting again. "Look, I didn't get much sleep last night, in the lock-up, and you look exhausted too. Let's just go to bed and talk about this tomorrow."

Enjolras watches a little of the light drain out of Grantaire's eyes.

"Fine." His shoulders slump forward, and Enjolras feels guilty. He really is exhausted though, and he knows he'll understand him better in the morning.

Enjolras goes to change into his pyjamas but Grantaire grabs him as he walks past, and pulls him close, laying a kiss delicately across his lips. Enjolras doesn't know why, but it makes him want to cry. Grantaire releases him after a moment, and gets into bed, Enjolras following and settling in against him as they lie down.

They're almost asleep when Enjolras whispers in the darkness, "I do love you, you know."

He doesn't know if Grantaire hears him. He goes to sleep.

 

He wakes in the middle of the night to an empty bed.

Sitting up, he resolves not to panic. His heart isn't listening, of course, pounding against his chest. Has he lost track of the phase of the moon? No. He wouldn't have. And Grantaire wouldn't leave without saying goodbye?

Would he?

Enjolras sighs, listening for some sign of sound that would indicate Grantaire is still in his apartment. It's a quiet night, and he hears nothing, but he sees his balcony door is open, and he pads over to it.

 

Enjolras's balcony is large, and uncovered, and for a second he doesn't see Grantaire, lying on the cold tiles and gazing at the stars. Enjolras goes back inside to pull the blankets from his bed, before returning to the balcony, and lying down next to him. He manoeuvres the blankets around them, and Grantaire's hand seeks his out.

"What are you doing out here?" he whispers.

"I needed to see the stars, once more."

It's not what he expected, but Enjolras is just relieved he's not still mad. He settles in closer against Grantaire, and looks up with him.

Grantaire continues, "They're the same here, you know? I wouldn't look every night, back home. But often." He sounds ageless.

Enjolras can't remember the last time he's looked at the stars. The light pollution in Paris isn't ideal, but that doesn't really matter.

He's always felt strange, thinking about space: a reminder of how insignificant his actions really are. He prefers to focus on the things he can change.

But looking now, he doesn't feel small; he feels infinite, as if anything - everything - is possible.

 

He still has a lot he wants to do. The failure of the espionage last night still aches in him, the thought that Thenardier could still win. The Earth falling apart, being laid to waste, and the most vulnerable people experiencing the worst of it.

 

But, the moon is still bright, sliver that it is, and Grantaire is warm beside him.

 

It doesn't feel like such a small thing.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun is rising behind him, as Grantaire stares at the edge of the pier.

 

It hurts so much worse than he thought it could.

 

He had heard stories about the transformation. That walking would feel like treading on knives, and breathing like the burn of ice water or the crushing weight of the too-deep.

 

No one had warned him where the actual pain lay.

 

The sea witch always won, in the end. Grantaire had known that when he made the deal. He had always known he wouldn't be able to break the curse. It had still seemed worth it, at the time, so long as he got to see Enjolras once more.

 

Enjolras, with the lights in his eyes - his very own starlights - and his words that feel like magic. He feels a fool around him, tripping over this new language, but nothing has ever made him feel half as powerful as Enjolras's words.

 

When he was around Enjolras he could pretend the sun didn't burn him, that the world above wasn't even uglier and dirtier than the fathoms below. But the edges of the air were creeping in. He could never belong here. There was no way to get Enjolras to break the spell, not when even he, himself, didn't believe in it.

 

Grantaire strips down, and dives.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for descriptions of drowning.
> 
> Also, this chapter's going to require some considerable suspension of disbelief

When Enjolras wakes up, he's in his bed.

And alone.

Something cold washes over him, and he feels sick.

It's too early. He still has one more day.

He searches the apartment, slowly, thoroughly, before he throws on some clothes and heads out the door.

He does a quick sweep of the local haunts around his apartment, before walking to Combeferre and Courfeyrac's.

Courfeyrac swings open the door, and Enjolras doesn't stop to greet him, just says "Grantaire's gone." and pushes inside. Combeferre is in the kitchen, and Enjolras finds him, Courfeyrac following.

"Did he come here?"

"No. Not this time. What's happened?"

"I think- I think he's gone. Gone home, like he said. But I thought I had more time." Enjolras casts a desperate glance at them. "He didn't even say goodbye."

Combeferre lays a hand on his arm. "Enjolras, we have something to tell you-"

Courf stops him. "'Ferre, we can't. We promised."

Combeferre snaps back "Sea foam, Courf. Sea. Foam."

"What?" Enjolras is so very lost. "Do you know where Grantaire is?"

"Not exactly,"

 Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a look.

"Please, you have to tell me."

Combeferre takes a deep breath, as the two of them share a silent argument. Eventually Combeferre turns to him. "He's probably in the ocean."

Enjolras blinks.

"The ocean? Why would he be in the ocean?"

"Because," Combeferre says, slowly, "that's where he's from. Grantaire is a mermaid."

Enjolras thinks back to the day they'd met, that morning on the beach. The hints he'd dropped in their conversations. To that day on the cruise ship twenty years ago. It couldn't be true. Enjolras had spent years in therapy, being told not to trust what he'd seen. That it wasn't real. That he needed to move on.

But, Combeferre doesn't lie. Not to him.

"Oh." And then "It's impossible."

"Come on, Enjolras. You're not going to let a little thing like impossibility get in the way of love, are you?" Courfeyrac interjects.

"This is crazy." Enjolras looks between his friends, for some sign that they're joking, or lying, or losing it.

"Either you believe us or you don't, but Grantaire needs our help. We're going to try and find him, with or without you."

Courfeyrac adds "Cricqueboeuf, is where Marius said he came from. Maybe we can still catch him, before it's too late. Are you really going to just let him go?"

Between the choice of believing them, and never seeing Grantaire again, it's not that hard a choice to make.

"Let's go."

 

***

 

They make it to the sea-side, and all the way to the end of the vacant dock, before Enjolras realises he has no idea what to do next. The ocean calls out, vast and infinite in front of him, and Enjolras stares at it, transfixed.

Combeferre comes up beside him, and Enjolras is so consumed by the call of the water it makes him startle.

"Enjolras, are you sure about this? It's just - you two already fight a lot. Are you sure you shouldn't just let him go?"

Enjolras swallows the pang of anger that rises in him at Combeferre's words. It's true that for people who had only been dating for a few weeks, they did seem to already have more than their fair share of problems. And that wasn't even counting the whole different species thing. Was it really going to be worth it?

Of course it was. The voice that whispers inside him is soft, but it's easy to hear.

"He makes me happy."

Despite all their troubles, if there's a chance they can make each other so, Enjolras isn't ready to give up on that.

"Well all right then." Combeferre is smiling, like he was hoping that would be Enjolras's answer. "So, how do we find him?"

Enjolras stares out at the water from the dock, its vastness overwhelming.

"You there! " From along the dock, a man calls out to him, cold fury in his eyes. He rushes over to them, stepping over to the boat Enjolras is closest to, his bearing protective.

"Who are you? What do you mean by this?" The man steps closer to them, examining Enjolras's face.

"I know you. I recognise your faces. You're in cahoots with Valjean, aren't you? What are you looking for out here? Answer me!"

"Please sir," Courfeyrac tries to appease him, "We're just here for the ocean. We haven't touched your boat."

"Don't lie to me, boy." The man jabs one finger out at them, menacing.

"Javert. Stop."

Enjolras hadn't noticed the other man approaching, too caught up in this delay, but as he turns he recognises Cosette's father, of all people, walking towards them.

The other man turns on him. "You just couldn't stop, could you? You had to take everything from me! You might have gotten away with it before, but I won't stand for this again."

"Javert," Valjean says again, and for the first time Enjolras sees something dangerous in his eyes, where before he had seen only the kindly old man Cosette adored. "Enough. I am not your enemy, and neither is this young man."

"Don't try to play me. I know it was you, all those years ago, with that business with Fantine. We were both there, we both saw what happened. You lied to our captain, you lied to everyone, you had me discredited, destroyed my research."

"I did. I admit it, and it's time I told you the truth. But not now. This man needs our help."

Javert is speechless, everything he had suspected, fought for, just confirmed, as though it were nothing.

"I will tell you everything you wish to know, but first, we must help Enjolras find his friend."

"You expect me to trust you, after everything?"

"I think it's in your interests to trust me. You see, Enjolras's friend is a mermaid."

 

***

 

"Monsieur Valjean, how did you know we were here?" Enjolras asks, as Javert prepares the boat for departure.

"Please, boys. Call me Jean."

"Your name is Jean Valjean?" Courfeyrac whispers, incredulous. Combeferre nudges him.

"The same way I know about who R really is." Valjean answers, "But that is a story for another time. Javert have you set up the IMS meter?"

"Give me a moment!" Javert mutters out, annoyed. Enjolras is amazed at the transformation between the two old men. Where only a few minutes ago Javert had seemed all too willing to murder them all, now the two of them were bickering like an old married couple. Still, he doesn't have thoughts to waste on that curiosity. It's hardly going to be the strangest thing that happens today. Hopefully.

"There, it's set up. Are you ready?" Javert looks over at them. "There won't be room enough on the boat for all of you, with the equipment set up, and I'm not letting you out of my sight," he points accusingly at Valjean.

"We'll wait here." Combeferre says, before surging forward and pulling Enjolras into a tight hug. "Good luck, and come back. Promise."  
"I will." Enjolras hopes it's not a lie.

He hugs Courfeyrac next, before boarding the boat, Valjean and Javert ahead of him. Javert starts up the motor, and they tug away, further from the shore. As they head out, Enjolras goes below deck to put on the wetsuit and flippers Javert has lent him, glad to have something else to focus on that's not the vast, unending horizon, or the disappearing specks of Combeferre and Courfeyrac behind him.

* * *

When Enjolras was a child, his parents, well-meaning and concerned, had enrolled him in swimming lessons, thinking it would help with his fear after his accident. It hadn't worked, and had made things a lot worse.

He had to be coerced into the pool, and the second he was back in the water he became hysterical.

When they got him out safely, (and he was safe, the teacher, the other students, the watching parents, had reassured him. Nothing bad had happened, didn't he see?) he refused to go back in the water.

His parents didn't know what to do with him. He threw tantrums at the suggestion of returning to his lessons. Worse still, from that point on he couldn't be around water without falling to pieces. Bath times became an ordeal. They tried everything they could think of to help. Rewards and punishments, distractions. Enjolras lost count of how many psychologists he had seen.

He was too young to question his emotions, and as he grew older he never got to thinking about it, just accepted this fact about himself. Some kids were afraid of the dark, of monsters, of public speaking. He was afraid of water.

Even as an adult, showering made him uncomfortable. He kept them short and only when absolutely necessary, preferring sponge baths and washing his hair in the sink.

That's why the night that had driven him to Monte Carlo had been so strange. Something had made him return to the ocean, and when he'd felt those waves around him, it hadn't felt like the fear and panic he was used to; it had felt like coming home.

Gazing now at the water that stretches all around them, doubt comes in. Could one experience really be enough to rewrite a lifetime of fear?

He doesn't have time to consider it. Javert cuts off the boat's engine and comes over to him.

"This is where the trace ends. Are you ready to try on the scuba gear? There should be about an hour's worth of oxygen left in the tank."

"I won't need it," he replies, and hopes to hell he's right.

"Are you sure?" Valjean asks, the two of them looking at him with concern.

"It'll be fine. I've done it before."

He hadn't ever been able to explain what had driven him over the edge of the cruise ship - at least to the questioner's satisfaction. He had shaken off what had happened, even in his own mind. No one would trust a child's memory.

But he's chosen to believe it. Chosen to trust in Grantaire, and whatever had drawn him to the water twenty years ago, knowing he wouldn't be hurt. He isn't going to turn back now.

"I can-" he cuts himself off, knowing it defies explanation. But, he has a feeling these two men are used to mysteries. "Thank you. Both of you."

"We'll keep watch on the surface for a while, if you change your mind. Good luck, son." Valjean says, and Enjolras jumps over the side and into the water.

He doesn’t swim out too far from the boat (well, he's sort of dogpaddling - he still never learnt to swim, but had googled the basics on the drive over.) He could just be crazy, after all, and he wants them to be able to pull him out if this doesn't work, but when he's gone far enough he doesn't hesitate. He lets his head fall under, and opens his lungs, waiting for the pain.

It doesn't come.

He won't allow himself to think about it. Like catching magic in a mirror, if he doesn't think about it directly maybe it won't collapse under its own impossibility. Instead, he starts kicking, heading deeper. He doesn't think about what to do next, either. How he has no plan and an entire ocean to search. Impossible things have happened to him; a happy ending isn't so unlikely. He loses track of how long he swims, but eventually he begins to hear something.

Softly, faintly, he can hear singing.

Grantaire had said, you had to listen. He opens his ears, and his mind, and then he can hear it. It isn't quite like speaking, more like being understood. He tries to match it, sending out a message: _'Can you help me?'_

When Enjolras replies, he realises he's been speaking this way his entire life. Convincing people not just with his words, but with his mind.

The singing grows louder, and Enjolras tries not to be afraid, as the sheer size of the creature makes itself apparent. It isn't like any animal Enjolras has seen before: an enormous sea serpent, with large, razor sharp fins.

_'I need to find my friend. He's a mermaid - like me, but with a tail for legs.'_

Apparently. He wishes he had asked his friends what Grantaire actually looked like. It doesn't seem to matter, as the creature replies, loud as an echo in a cave, ' _You seek the mermaid? There are only a few left,  and only one in these parts. He has returned to the sea witch.'_

_'Where? Can you take me to him? Please,'_

' _Down here, that's not how it works. Nothing comes for free.'_

 _'What would you have?'_ What could Enjolras possibly give that would have value to this creature?

_'A song.'_

It isn't what Enjolras is expecting. He doesn't have the best voice, but he supposes that won't matter, in this strange and magical language. Enjolras bobs awkwardly in the water, singing out La Marseillaise, and hoping it will be good enough, and that those teeth aren't as sharp as they look. When he finishes, the creature swims closer to him, and Enjolras panics, wishing he had something to defend himself with. The creature swims past him, though, tilting his fin so his back is bared.

_'You may hold on.'_

Enjolras grips tight to the creature's scales, as he begins dragging them down, deeper, darker, colder. The water cuts deep, but there's a warmth in Enjolras's chest that stays blazing. He can feel the pressure rising around him, uncomfortable, but not quite painful. Eventually, the creature slows.

_'Thank you for the song. You humans are mostly good for nothing, but you do have the best music. This is as far as I go. Keep swimming down, head for the light, and you will find what you seek.'_

The creature takes off, disappearing from Enjolras's sight before he can turn and see. It's too dark down here for much of that anyway. He swims down. He swims for what feels like an eternity, and it's all he can do to stay out of his head, but eventually he sees a light in the dark. Pushing thoughts of anglerfish aside - the light seems too organised for that - he heads towards it. The lights grow brighter, like a pathway, and it leads him to a cavern in the ocean wall that's lit up fully, blinding after the darkness. He's still adjusting to the light when he sees Grantaire across the cavern and picks up his speed, kicking his flippers faster than before. Grantaire glances his way and catches his eye, and then he's swimming too. He doesn't get far. A golden cord wrapped around his tail pulls him back, tethering him to the rock.

' _What have they done to you?'_

_'Enjolras? What are you doing here? I thought you didn't believe me."_

' _I came to find you._ '

' _It's too late. You can't be here - it's not safe._ ' There's no bitterness in Grantaire's tone, only fear.

' _Why? Who's doing this to you?_ '

' _That would be me_.' From the depths of the cavern, hidden between the glowing lights, an enormous, tentacled monster emerges, graceful and beautiful, advancing on Enjolras. Its tentacles seem to surround them, suffocating, as they snake across the cavern.

He won't hesitate, won't show his fear. ' _Who are you?_ '

 _'They call me Montparnasse, the sea witch. I grant favours for the creatures of the sea._ '

There's slime in his tone, and Enjolras knows the type, surprised to find the same kind of greasy scum he too often deals with up above.

 _'What did you promise him, exactly?'_ Enjolras's mind starts racing. He's spent his career finding loopholes in contracts. Maybe there's a chance he can find one to save Grantaire.

' _It's what he promised me. A declaration of love from a human, for all that he is, human and merman, before the fading of the moon.'_

_'But, I've done that,'_

Montparnasse swishes a tentacle by Enjolras's foot. _'Too late.'_

_'No, it's not. I'm here. I've still got one more day.'_

_'It is too late. The merman was forbidden from sharing the secret of his species. You already know his identity, and regardless, he has returned to me. His life is mine now.'_

_'Enjolras, please.'_ Grantaire struggles against the cord, to no avail. Enjolras aches to see him so trapped. ' _I know, you're good at arguing, but this is too dangerous. You need to go home.'_

 _'No. That's not fair. That penalty is unreasonable. Grantaire is only liable for damages for breach of contract, which as far as I can see, there aren't any. And in any case, this wasn't an equitable deal. Let him go_.'

' _You think your human laws apply to me? This isn't your realm. You have no power here.'_

_'I'm not leaving without him.'_

_'It makes no difference to me, what you do.'_

Enjolras feels rage build within him. ' _What purpose does he serve you, chained down here?'_

_'A mermaid's lifespan is a long time. I'm sure I'll think of something.'_

_'This isn't fair.'_   To require a gesture of belief, without the truth - it would have been impossible for Enjolras to win. _'You rigged the game.'_ And then, a gamble: ' _Surely you're braver than that.'_

' _You're trying to bait me. It won't work. You have nothing I desire._ '

Enjolras thinks, a cold fierceness settling in him. What would a sea witch want? The story comes to him, though he hasn't heard  it since he was a child. He doesn’t know what worth he can put in a fairytale, but objectively he seems to be living in one already, and it also happens to be the thing he values most about himself. It couldn't be worthless, even to something so other.

_'I'll wager my voice.'_

Enjolras waits, flippers drifting in anticipation.

He doesn't dismiss him outright, and Enjolras latches onto the hope  that brings. Time seems to slow, as if it too is moving through water. It seems an age before Montparnasse answers him.

' _Very well. If you can carry him back to the surface, you may have him. If you don't make it, the merman will return to me, and I will take your voice._ '

Enjolras knows he's being played, but he can't think properly, can't see the loopholes he knows Montparnasse is spinning. But what choice does he have?

' _You have to set him free first._ '

' _Of course_.'

' _And you have to grant us safety, if we win._ '

' _Very well. If you win._ '

Enjolras knows it's a devil's bargain, but he still answers ' _Then I accept._ '

The golden cord glows and fades to nothing, and then Grantaire is free, swimming over to Enjolras with a swish of his tail, powerful enough to send a current through the water to knock down some of Montparnasse's trinkets.

As Enjolras grabs onto him he feels the air start to fade from his lungs. He panics: he can't help it, though he knows he needs to stay calm, needs to conserve his oxygen. He starts kicking towards the surface, holding Grantaire tightly.

It feels like his flippers are useless. He kicks and kicks, but he doesn't move, and he feels Grantaire getting heavier, as his lungs grow tighter.

 

He is going to lose. He is going to drown. He can't hold his breath any longer, and he can feel the water pressing at him, waiting to swallow his lungs.

 

Then, the sea witch makes a mistake.

 

The water grows darker around him, and as he holds Grantaire tight in his arms, he begins to change, morphing into a hideous ocean beast, thrashing and snapping to free himself from Enjolras's grip.

 

Something in Enjolras clicks.

 

Grantaire would never hurt him, he knows. If there is one thing he's unwilling to accept in this crazy new reality, it's that.

It has to be an illusion, all of it, and though his lungs still burn, he grips him tighter and keeps swimming.

The image of Grantaire turns more and more vicious as Enjolras swims, but it only makes him more determined, knowing Montparnasse is getting desperate.

 

Though it seems like they've been swimming for hours, and though it seems he still has an ocean to go, a moment later they breach the surface, Enjolras breathing in air, filling his lungs and removing the pain, as the sunlight hits their faces.

 

Grantaire's face is normal again - human, and perfect, and beaming at him.

"You did it! I knew you could!" Grantaire leans over and kisses him, and it feels like being able to breathe all over again. Enjolras laughs, and grips him tight, as Grantaire uses his tail to keep them afloat.

Enjolras says, when he gets his breath back, "I can't believe that just happened. I can't believe this is real."

"Yes," Grantaire is grinning at him, "You can."

That was kind of the point.

"Will he come after us?"

"He'll honour the contract. He has to. You are the best lawyer in the world!"

"In the ocean, at least. I can't believe you ever made that deal. Someone's got to do something about legal representation for sea creatures."

"I had to do something to find you again. There aren't a whole lot of options down below."

Enjolras is awed as he comments "There's a whole world down there."

"And one up here."

"Where should we go?"

"Wherever we want to." Grantaire looks at him, happy to let Enjolras decide, the underlying assumption that whatever they do, they'll be together. He's right. They're free. Enjolras smiles back, and looks to the horizon.


End file.
